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3iiiiiiiiiiiiQiiiii!iiiiiininiHiiimumiiiimiiQiimimmc:iiiiiiiiiuic 


Judson’s  Prison  Experience 

By-  RALPH  WELLES  KEELER 

3niiiiiinimiimnninc3imiinniianiiiiiniiiaiiniiiiiinc3iinmii»ic 


“  Halt!  ” 

The  command  was  given  by  a  harsh  and 
surly  voice. 

Mrs.  Adoniram  Judson,  who  was  taking  the 
dinner  from  the  stove,  turned  and  looked  out 
of  her  kitchen  window.  As  she  did  so,  she 
called  her  husband,  who  immediately  laid 
aside  the  Burmese  Bible  on  which  he  was 
working  and  came  running  to  her. 

Outside,  drawn  up  in  single  file  and  facing 
their  own  little  home,  was  a  guard  of  twelve 
burly  Burmese  soldiers.  During  the  few 
weeks  previous  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Judson,  mis¬ 
sionaries  of  the  gospel  of  Christ  in  Burma,  had 
become  familiar  with  the  sight  of  soldiers,  for 
it  was  the  season  of  accession  to  the  throne, 
and  Ava,  the  golden  city  of  Burma,  was  in 
gala  attire.  They  had  seen  the  king  and 
queen  make  a  formal  entrance  to  the  city  and 
take  possession  of  the  palace  with  the  golden 
dome.  They  had  seen  the  white  elephant, 
decked  with  gold  and  jewels,  go  by  in  state. 
The  soldiery  and  the  slaves  also  had  all 


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become  familiar  to  their  eyes.  But  the 
soldiers  had  never  before  visited  their  home. 

Now  that  war  had  been  declared  between 
England  and  Burma  they  felt  a  little  anxious, 
for  while  they  were  Americans,  the  Burmans 
hardly  recognized  the  distinction.  And  the 
captain  of  the  guard  before  the  house  was  the 
spotted  man  from  the  prison  —  Ava’s  execu¬ 
tioner.  What  did  it  mean ! 

“  Where  is  the  teacher?  ”  asked  the  man 
with  the  spotted  face. 

“  I  am  he,”  said  Mr.  Judson,  who  had 
approached  the  door  after  his  wife  opened 
it.  “  What  is  it?  ” 

“  You  are  called  by  the  king,”  replied  the 
officer  of  the  prison. 

As  he  said  these  words  he  fell  upon  Mr. 
Judson,  pinned  him  to  the  ground,  and  began 
to  torture  him  with  a  small  cord;  winding  it 
about  his  breast  so  that  his  arms  were  bound 
fast,  he  twisted  the  cord  so  as  almost  to 
wrench  his  prisoner’s  shoulders  out  of  joint. 
When  he  was  fastened  securely  they  turned 
to  Mrs.  Judson. 

“  Don’t  take  her,  I  beg  of  you,”  the  prisoner 
cried  out. 

The  porch  of  the  little  half-finished  house 
was  rapidly  filling  with  natives  who  wondered 
what  was  going  on.  The  masons  threw  down 
their  tools  and  fled;  the  little  Burman  children 


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screamed  and  cried;  and  the  Bengali  servants 
stood  dumbfounded.  Afraid  of  the  crowd, 
rather  than  moved  by  the  white  man’s  plea, 
the  executioner  drew  still  tighter  the  cords 
which  bound  Mr.  Judson,  and  dragged  him 
off  to  the  court. 

Moung  Ing,  Mr.  Judson’s  servant,  fol¬ 
lowed  the  crowd  to  the  court.  Here  in  the 
robes  of  state  sat  the  governor  of  Ava  and 
the  officers  of  the  city.  And  as  Moung  Ing 
listened  he  heard  the  king’s  order  read  and 
saw  his  master  cast  into  the  death  prison. 

Unsheltered  by  trees,  this  miserable  prison 
stood  sweltering  in  the  tropical  sun.  It  was 
scarcely  forty  feet  from  end  to  end  and  thirty 
feet  across.  The  walls  were  only  five  feet 
high  at  the  side,  while  the  roof  rose  to  about 
ten  feet  in  the  center.  There  were  no  windows 
to  let  in  the  sunshine.  There  was  no  venti¬ 
lation,  except  through  the  cracks  in  the  board 
wall  and  through  the  door.  But  the  door 
was  seldom  opened  except  to  put  a  prisoner 
in  or  take  one  out. 

“  Come,  move  along!  ”  Angrily  the  guard 
shoved  the  prisoner  into  the  dark. 

The  sudden  change  from  the  bright  sun¬ 
light  to  the  dim  murky  prison  blinded  Mr. 
Judson.  For  the  only  light  was  an  earthen 
pot  of  burning  oil  swinging  from  a  crooked 
tripod  in  the  center  of  the  room. 


s 


Hurrying  him  down  to  the  end  of  the  room, 
the  executioner  again  threw  Mr.  Judson  to 
the  ground,  and  this  time  locked  three  sets  of 
iron  fetters  to  his  legs  and  tied  him  to  a  long 
bamboo  pole.  In  this  position  he  lay  through¬ 
out  the  long  afternoon. 

After  he  had  become  used  to  the  dim  light 
he  was  able  to  look  about  him.  But  what  a 
sight!  In  that  wretched  little  room  were 
crowded  ninety-seven  prisoners.  Poor,  ema¬ 
ciated  women  and  half-naked  men,  all 
huddled  together,  lived  in  this  filthy  prison 
week  after  week.  The  room  was  never 
washed,  and  the  stench  which  arose  from  the 
floor  and  walls  was  terrible.  Vermin  ran 
riot  over  prison  and  prisoners.  And  the 
prisoners  fastened  in  long  rows  of  stocks 
around  the  room  had  little  chance  to  de¬ 
fend  themselves  from  the  savage  attacks  of 
these  pests.  Nor  were  those  whose  feet  were 
thrust  through  heavy  timber  logs  in  which 
holes  were  bored  any  better  off.  For  the 
wooden  pins  which  held  their  ankles  fast  hurt 
them  so  that  they  had  little  time  to  attend  to 
much  else  but  pain.  One  woman  groaned,  a 
man  cursed,  and  an  incessant  babel  filled  the 
air.  Government  officials  in  disgrace,  thieves, 
murderers,  and  evil-doers  of  all  kinds  were 
crowded  in  with  the  English  and  American 
suspects. 


6 


Judson  turned  to  his  fellow-prisoner  on  the 
left. 

“  What  is  the  matter?  ”  he  whispered 
softly. 

Before  his  neighbor  could  answer  the  little 
bamboo  door  at  the  end  of  the  prison  opened 
and  the  evil-looking  Burman  with  the  spotted 
face  —  the  keeper  of  the  prison  —  stole  in 
among  the  terrified  men  and  women,  and 
going  straight  to  a  poor  wretch  huddled  close 
to  a  machine  of  torture  seized  him  and  bore 
him  away. 

The  spotted  man  had  an  unusually  ferocious 
expression  on  his  face,  and  a  cruel  short-sword 
was  stuck  in  his  belt.  As  he  hurried  his 
shrieking  victim  through  the  heaps  of  pris¬ 
oners  and  out  the  door,  for  a  moment  the 
daylight  fell  upon  the  face  of  the  one  whom 
Judson  had  questioned.  As  Judson  waited 
to  receive  an  answer,  he  saw  the  most  terrible 
expression  that  he  had  ever  seen.  Horror, 
fright  and  anguish  were  stamped  on  his  face, 
as  though  the  man  had  seen  a  vision  even 
worse  than  the  daily  life  of  the  prison.  Then 
Judson  knew  what  it  meant  without  an 
answer.  It  was  three  o’clock  in  the  after¬ 
noon,  —  the  hour  of  death. 

“  Is  it  my  turn  next?  ”  Each  poor  fellow 
asked  himself  this  question  in  terror  as  the 
prison  grew  still  and  the  door  was  opened 


7 


every  afternoon.  But  at  nightfall  when  the 
keeper  came,  and  running  a  long  bamboo 
pole  between  their  legs  so  as  to  thread  the 
fetter  chains,  hauled  their  feet  up  with  a  block 
so  that  they  rested  all  night  on  the  back  of 
their  necks,  they  almost  wished  that  the 
afternoon  whose  sun  had  just  set  had  seen 
them  vanished  through  the  wicket  door. 

Such  was  the  thought  of  Adoniram  Judson, 
until  the  picture  of  his  wife  came  to  his  mind. 
For  her  he  would  live  and  endure,  for  her  he 
would  be  strong.  And  so,  even  after  the 
terrible  night,  he  was  able  to  crawl  and  drag 
himself  to  the  door  in  the  morning,  when  his 
wife  came  to  bring  him  a  little  food. 

As  he  ate  his  breakfast,  this  brave  little 
woman  began  to  tell  him  what  she  was  doing 
with  the  authorities  in  his  behalf,  when  a 
coarse  soldier  drove  her  away,  threatening 
to  haul  her  out  of  the  prison  yard  if  she  did 
not  go.  There  was  little  relish  to  the  rest 
of  the  meal  for  the  heart-sick  man. 

But  while  Mrs.  Judson  was  not  able  to  tell 
her  husband  all  that  was  going  on,  she  was 
busy.  She  visited  governors  and  officers. 
She  urged  the  sister  of  the  queen  to  influence 
the  queen,  and  even  presented  a  petition  to 
Bandoola,  the  great  general,  who  happened 
to  be  the  king’s  guest,  and  who  promised  her 
that  when  he  had  retaken  Rangoon  and  ex- 


8 


pelled  the  English  he  would  return  and  release 
all  the  prisoners. 

Bandoola  could  do  little.  Yet  after  a  few 
months,  Mrs.  Judson  was  permitted  to  make 
her  husband  a  little  bamboo  room  outside 
in  the  prison  enclosure.  Then  she  was  taken 
sick  and  could  not  come  for  many  weeks. 
When  she  did  come  again  she  brought  with 
her  their  little  child,  Maria,  who  was  then  two 
months  old.  But  the  little  room  which  she 
had  made  was  all  in  ruins,  the  mat  and  pillow 
stolen  by  the  jailers,  and  her  husband  had  been 
thrown  into  the  inner  prison  again. 

Immediately  she  started  to  see  the  governor. 
She  thought  that  Mr.  Judson  had  been 
executed.  In  this  she  was  mistaken.  He 
was  not  dead,  but  he  was  in  terrible  agony. 
With  tears  and  entreaties  she  persuaded  the 
governor  not  to  execute  her  husband,  and 
secured  permission  to  go  to  the  door  of  the 
inner  prison  and  take  him  food. 

Those  were  terrible  days.  Gradually  things 
grew  worse.  Bandoola  died,  and  all  hope  of 
help  from  that  quarter  ceased.  A  rebellion 
was  rising  among  the  restless  people  of  Ava. 
Mr.  Judson  came  down  with  the  fever.  One 
day  the  governor  sent  for  Mrs.  Judson,  and 
while  he  detained  her  at  the  palace,  he  had  all 
the  white  prisoners  carried  away  to  Amara- 
poora.  The  next  day  she  started  by  boat 


9 


and  cart  for  Amarapoora,  only  to  find  on 
arriving  there  that  the  prisoners  had  been  sent 
on  farther. 

At  Oung-pen-la  Mrs.  Judson  found  her 
husband,  and  learned  how,  under  the  midday 
sun,  they  had  half-driven,  half-dragged  him 
over  the  eight  miles  of  burning  sand  and 
gravel.  She  found  the  prison  at  Oung-pen-la 
even  worse  than  the  one  at  Ava.  Both  body 
and  soul  grew  faint.  Then  the  baby  caught 
the  smallpox,  and  the  brave  little  woman  was 
almost  distracted. 

Finally  she  got  an  old  Burmese  cart,  the 
wheels  of  which  were  thick  planks  with  a  hole 
in  the  middle,  through  which  a  pole  was 
thrust  to  support  the  body  of  the  cart,  and, 
in  mud  that  almost  buried  the  oxen,  drove 
back  to  Ava  for  medicine.  For  two  long 
months  after  her  return  she  lay  half-conscious 
on  a  woven  mat. 

One  morning  Mr.  Judson  was  hurried  off  to 
Maloun,  where  the  Burmese  army  was  in 
camp.  There  on  the  banks  of  the  Irawadi 
they  built  him  a  bamboo  hovel  where  he  lived 
and  acted  as  translator  and  interpreter.  For 
a  few  weeks  their  troubles  were  diminished, 
but  Mrs.  Judson’s  health  began  to  decline 
and  finally  she  was  seized  with  the  spotted 
fever.  While  she  lay  helpless  his  tormentors 
again  threw  her  husband  into  the  prison  at 


Ava.  It  was  here,  while  Mrs.  Judson  was 
recovering,  that  the  faithful  Moung  Ing 
found  him. 

They  had  found  him  in  time,  for  only  two 
days  later  the  town  of  Ava  was  all  astir  with 
excitement  and  alarm.  Order  after  order 
was  dispatched  from  the  palace.  The  Eng¬ 
lish  were  approaching  the  capital  and  in  a  day 
or  two  would  be  at  its  gates.  What  should  be 
done?  They  had  abused  the  white  people 
within  their  realm,  and  now  a  white  army  was 
at  their  gates  demanding  that  an  account  be 
rendered.  They  would  send  the  prisoners  as 
ambassadors! 

The  officers  of  the  court  remembered  how 
they  had  extorted  money  from  the  woman 
whose  husband  they  had  thrust  into  prison. 
They  thought  of  the  indignities  which  they 
had  shown  to  Mr.  Judson.  The  royal  secre¬ 
tary  grew  pale  as  it  all  came  to  his  mind. 
He  had  permitted  the  jailer  to  steal  part  of 
the  food  brought  to  the  starving  man  in 
fetters.  He  had  even  robbed  the  white 
woman  of  her  parasol  and  turned  her  out  in 
the  glaring  sun. 

And  now  their  prisoner,  who  had  gone  down 
the  river  with  the  others  as  a  messenger  to 
the  English  camp,  was  returning.  Would  he 
tell  his  deliverers  of  the  terrible  treatment  that 
he  had  received  at  the  hands  of  the  Burmans? 


The  governor  summoned  the  secretary  to  the 
room  where  the  ambassadors  were  to  be 
received.  The  governor  expected  that  the 
setting  sun  would  throw  its  rays  across  his 
grave. 

He  thought  that  he  could  hear  the  English 
drummers  rolling  out  the  call  to  arms.  His 
fevered  head  grew  heavy  with  the  roar  of 
cannon  and  the  rattling  of  muskets.  Would 
they  behead  him,  or  slowly  torture  him  as  he 
had  tortured  his  prisoners? 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door.  The 
shadow  of  the  sun-dial  lay  at  three.  He 
braced  himself  for  his  last  official  duty. 

“  Enter!  ” 

The  door  was  thrown  back  and  the  am¬ 
bassadors  entered.  A  guard  of  the  queen’s 
soldiers  was  with  them.  With  sinking  heart 
the  governor  advanced  toward  his  guests 
and  bowed  them  to  their  seats.  At  least  it 
would  soon  be  over. 

Late  that  night,  when  the  moon  had  risen 
over  the  palace  dome,  eight  golden  boats 
floated  out  on  the  water  of  the  Irawadi. 
Down,  down  they  floated  through  the  cool, 
still  night.  The  boats  stirred  the  water  into 
little  ripples  as  they  floated  along.  Three  of 
the  boats  held  the  gold  and  silver  vessels  of  the 
palace  melted  for  tribute.  The  other  boats 
carried  several  men  and  a  pale  white  woman. 


All  night  they  floated,  and  just  as  the  day 
began  to  break  the  woman  turned  to  the  man 
at  her  side  and  whispered  something  to  him. 
Mr.  Judson  did  not  answer  his  wife,  but 
drawing  her  close  to  him  they  knelt  in  the 
little  boat  and  gave  thanks  to  God.  For  the 
rising  sun  was  shining  on  the  flag  of  a  British 
steamboat.  Yandabo  was  reached,  —  and 
freedom. 


13 


I022*sM*7-I3 


